


Bad

by JaneDoe112255



Category: Marianas Trench
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Cutting, Depression, Eating Disorders, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Phone Calls & Telephones, References to Depression, Relapsing, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDoe112255/pseuds/JaneDoe112255
Summary: Bad, bad, bad Josh was bad. He was bad. He should not want to do this anymore, but he did and he could not stop.I wrote this like two years ago and found it on my phone so here we go.





	Bad

**Author's Note:**

> TW- self harm, anxiety, depression, eating disorders, implied drug use... basically Josh's past.

Bad, bad, bad Josh was bad. He was bad. He should not want to do this anymore, and he should not think about this. The man should not want to do this anymore. He should not feel a burning sensation of want in his arm and thighs. He should not feel his chest tighten to the point that he could not breathe. His heart should not race in his chest like he ran five miles. His hands should not shake or sweet like he was about to go on a first date. He should not want this. He should not do this.

Bad, it was bad; he should not look at himself in the mirror to find every trace of imperfection and think that he was fat. He should not step onto the scale and think that he wanted to see the numbers 135 and be disgusted when he saw 150. He should not feel guilty when he ate.

Josh should not have to ignore these feelings just to try and function. He should not have to put on a fake smile for his friends. He should not have very little that he could genuinely laugh at. It should not be hard to get out of bed when he woke up in the morning; if he fell asleep at all. He should not feel cold and empty when he did not feel crippling panic like he did right now.

Josh's chest tightened, and his heart pounded in his chest. You are pathic, worthless a voice in the back of his mind shouted. No one likes you, and everyone just stays around because you are famous. They will get tired of you, and they will leave you all alone. Josh whimpered out loud. He wanted it all to stop. The man needed it to go away. There was only one way that he could think of that would make everything stop. But he should not want that anymore; he should not need it. 

But he did.

He needed it. He wanted it.

And that is how he ended up in the bathroom on the floor with a knife in hand, and five cuts on his inner forearm. Josh's breathing was already calmer, and his head was not buzzing with those thoughts, and the tightness in his chest was better. Why did this happen? Why did hurting himself calm him? This should not happen; this was not normal. He was fucked up and bad. 

He fucked up.

But he could not stop, not now, not until he felt normal. Not until he could feel something. Anything. 

Cut.

Cut.

Cut.

Cut.

Cut.

Ten more cuts, a total of twenty cuts up and down his arm, in varying lengths and depths. Some 15 centimeters others not even three, some sallow that would heal and not noticeable in a few weeks and other so deep that it would scar for a while. 

God, he fucked up, he was bad, he was not supposed to do this. Josh dropped the knife. Disgusted. He was disgusting, pathetic. How could he do this again? He was not a fucking teenager anymore. He should not do this.

But he did.

And he was going to do it again. He knew that. The panicked feeling was going to come back, and the burning sensation in his arm was going to come back, and he was going to do it again.

Josh did not want to do it again. Tears entered Josh's eyes. He did not want to do it again. He did not. 

But he would. 

And he knew it. 

Josh stood up on shaky legs, ignoring the stinging in his arm to get his phone. There was only one way that he was not going to do it again. 

He opened his phone and called Matt. 

After four seconds Matt answered the phone with a "Ramsay, you better have a damn good reason to call me at three a.m."

"I'm sorry, Matt," Josh whispered in the phone. Josh winced at how feeble his voice sounded, how pathetic. 

"What's wrong?" Matt asked, voice suddenly concerned. 

"I fucked up."

**Author's Note:**

> Open ending- how do you guys think it will end?


End file.
